


Realm of men

by AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst



Series: Ivar x Ylva [9]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Conspiracy Theories, Drug Use, Gun Violence, Kind of drug abuse?, Non-graphic suicide, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vikings modern au, we'll see where it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/pseuds/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst
Summary: A zombie apocalypse au, in a modern setting, with Ivar and Ylva from Keeping promises. Please be aware that the tags and rating might be updated, I will give a heads up at the start of each chapter. But I have no idea how many chapters there will be.Proably not my best work (I wrote this and a large chunk of the next chapter in two days) but I got such a craving for a zombie apocalypse story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keeping promises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490925) by [AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/pseuds/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst). 



> @brightlycoloredteacups has a thing over on her tumblr called "Theme of the week", which is what inspired this story.
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mention of gun violence, Major character death, nightmares, angst, unplanned pregnancy, people being ableist, strangulation

Floki snarls, the spindly man crouched over in an unnatural way as his milky eyes slowly move between his wife and his adoptive son. Ivar prides himself on having steady hands but now he can’t keep the gun straight. Helga’s sobbing does nothing to help. Floki limps forward, one foot dragging behind at a painful angle and arms swaying at his sides.

“Iv-aaar…” Floki rasps. Everyone knows the dead can’t talk. It’s all in his head. He shouts for the Flokiesque creature to stay back, but still he doesn’t fire.

“Iii-vaaaar...” It persists. He should have made Helga stay inside; locked her in the bathroom until it was done. Ivar glances at his wife; she is trying to hold Helga back but- He’s not sure what happens next. Only sees the creature lashing out and Ivar screams as he hears a gun go off. Even after he wakes from the nightmare, he continues screaming. His hands scramble for purchase in the bedlinen. Sweat running into his eyes and heart nearly breaking free of his chest.

“Ylva?! Ylva!” She’s there in an instant. Hair a messy halo as she reaches for her husband and takes him into her arms while he sobs incoherently.

“It's okay, Ivar,” She curls her entire body around him as best as she can “I’m here.”

 

Their bodies are still entwined when he wakes up in the morning. Ylva is snoring, mouth hanging open as she lies half on her side, half on her back. The covers have shifted enough to reveal most of her naked form and Ivar can’t stop himself from looking, from admiring everything about his sweet wife. He tilts his face down towards her stomach, runs the tip of his nose along the swell there. Ylva stirs and whines that it tickles.

“How much further until Luleå?” She asks him during breakfast, consisting of crisp bread and canned mackerel. They used the chairs to barricade the windows and so she’s perched atop the marble kitchen countertop.

“Just ten more miles.” Ivar answers as he prepares another sandwich. She lets her fingertips drum against the bump, seeming lost in thoughts. Her hand stops and she looks up at Ivar.

“What if there's no one-”

“They will be there.” He interrupts, then repeats the words in his mind like a mantra.

 

*******

 

They have tried travelling with others and it usually started out well enough. Some of their temporary companions claimed that there’s something special about the mines up north, something that seeped into the air every time ore was brought to the surface. Like really potent pollen that all of the zombies are allergic to. Another few suggested it is the equipment at Esrange that keeps the dead at bay. Radiation or something of the like, Ivar never paid much attention to the dozens of theories. The most crazy ones insisted that of course there are secret weapons, hidden by the government. One evening, a young man gave a passionate presentation about how Esrange is really a secret training ground for space military.

“They’re going to colonize space,” he practically shouted “grab it from right under the Americans’ and Russians’ noses!” Even Ylva hadn’t been able to keep from laughing about it after they’d gone to bed. Though unlike Ivar she later felt a twinge of guilt.

An old woman that they had met, and lost, just outside of Lycksele shrugged her shoulders at Ivar’s scepticism and said that it wouldn't be the first time Sapmí was used as the scene for questionable experiments, in the name of science.

People were kind, if a bit reserved. Many fawned over Ylva’s bump and vowed to keep her in their prayers. It never lasted for long. As soon as the food supply started to dwindle, or they had to pack themselves into one car instead of two, the sweet words turned vicious. Wasn’t it incredibly selfish of Ylva to get pregnant at a time like this? Didn’t she eat an awfully big share of the food, even though she barely helped with any of the work? And Ivar’s wheelchair took too much place in the shared cars, even when folded! They are both condemned as impractical people to travel with.

One night a man, whose breath reeked of moonshine, screamed that it would be more merciful to have Ylva go through some back alley abortion. A second later Ivar’s hands were wrapped around the man’s throat. And when his cousin had tried to intervene, Ylva reacted quicker than she’d ever done before in her life. She shot at the cousin’s foot then kept him at gunpoint while Ivar finished strangling the drunkard to death. After that night they travel alone.

 

 

*******

 

Luleå is a ghost town. The cathedral now looking even more like something out of a horror story than the average cathedral. Wrecked cars pile up on the bridges. 337 kilometres northwest of here lies Kiruna. At first Ivar had assumed that the promise of a place free of zombies was just a story. Something that people told themselves in an effort to keep a spark of hope alive. On June the 17th, 2019, he was proven wrong. They’d found shelter at Lund’s university. Ivar was just playing around with the caféteria’s radio, keeping busy while Ylva opened the canned beans, when he heard the message. A hoarse voice that pleaded with all survivors to come to what they now called Midgård, promising them safety in the heart of the mining town. After the initial shock Ylva had murmured something about how they’d missed their anniversary. Floki had laughed nonstop for over an hour when they told him the news. Loud enough for Helga to elbow him in the ribs lest they attract unwanted attention. Even with the older couple gone, Ivar had considered making the journey there. In the end he felt it was too dangerous. He had told himself he could continue making do with the medicines that could be scavenged. With the old wheelchair that Floki had made some adjustments to before he- Ivar always forces himself to halt that train of thought. And what if it was just a trap? Ylva never put up a fight about his decision, and he had chalked it up to shock from what she’d done just two days prior.

 

One week after they’d burned the bodies, Ylva fell ill. For a few terrifying days he had thought she’d leave him alone in the world. When they discovered the true reason behind her sickness, Ivar didn't know whether to laugh or cry. They’d gotten married the day after Ivar’s graduation and immediately begun their attempts to start a family of their own. But the gods wouldn't grant them their wish, not until now. More than four years later and in a world that's as good as dead.

“Ivar…” She had whispered that night, as they hid in a warehouse “I’m scared.” She had needed him to say something supportive, to ease her mind, but he found it impossible.

“Me too.” He’d answered. He’d made up his mind right then and there; they needed to go north. End of the world or not, he’s not letting his baby be born in a place where there’s no doctor at hand.

 

  
*******

 

A layer of dust rises from the couch as Ylva drops into it with a huff. Ivar twists awkwardly as he hauls himself into one of the armchairs, eager to sit on something softer than the worn seat of his wheelchair. He reaches one arm out to place a large palm at Ylva’s growing belly.

“What should I sing for you tonight, liten?” It is quiet for a moment as he thinks. Ylva places her own hand over his, securing his palm against the bump.

“Do you know Vargsången?” She asks. Ivar nods, smiling. The choice feels appropriate, to say the least. He shuffles further out on the cushion, clears his throat, and starts to sing.

 

“Vargen ylar i nattens skog  
Han vill, men kan inte sova  
Hungern river hans vargabuk  
Och det är kallt i hans stova  
  
Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit  
Ungen min får du aldrig!”

 

His voice trembles as he ends the song, warning the wolf again that he will never let it take his baby. It takes him a moment to realize that there’s a wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. Ivar furiously tries to blink it away, but then Ylva’s hands are there. She cups his cheeks and leans in close.

“Just four more days,” she whispers “Five at most.” Her lips brush against the wet cheek.

“Maybe we’ll even find a car tomorrow.” They haven’t found a working car since Bygdeå and that one only lasted until nightfall.

“I’ll check the doors and windows again. Bedroom’s down the hall, try to get some sleep.” He tries to move away but Ylva grabs at the front of his shirt and brings him in for a kiss.

“I love you, Ivar Ragnarsson.” She declares, still so close that their noses touch.

“To the moon and back?” He asks, only half-jokingly.

“Times infinity.” She assures him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ESRANGE: European Space and Sounding Rocket Range. Sweden's only rocketbase. The facility is owned by Swedish Space Corporation. The employees conduct research about primarily Aurora Borealis (the northern lights). It's located about 45 kilometres east of Kiruna.
> 
> KIRUNA: Located in Norrbotten, between the mountains Luossavaara and Kiirunavaara that are both rich with iron ore.
> 
> MIDGÅRD: Midgard, think that one was pretty obvious.
> 
> VARGSÅNGEN: The Wolf Song, from the movie Ronja Rövardotter. Lyrics by Astrid Lindgren and music by Björn Isfält.
> 
> Rough translation of the part that Ivar is singing:
> 
> “The wolf howls in the nighttime forest
> 
> He wants to, but cannot sleep
> 
> The hunger tears through his wolf stomach
> 
> And inside his den it is cold
> 
> You wolf, you wolf, never come here
> 
> You will never take my child!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Nightmares, "Flashback" to funeral, Mention of suicide by overdose, Screaming and breaking things, Extreme pain due to lack of treatment, Death threats, Morning sickness, Car crash, Animal death, Gun violence, Knife violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooohooo! I'm finally updating a fic!

Ivar wipes the grime from his face with a kitchen towel. This time, the nightmare woke him up at 4 am when Ylva was making the rounds. He splashes his face with cold water to soothe his puffy eyes. Helga never woke up the morning after Floki died. After they had found her, Ivar threw away the empty pill bottle that was hidden under the pillow and Ylva found clothes to dress the older couple in. Did her best to clean them up. She finished by removing her pearl earrings, fastening them to Helga’s ears instead. They spread a comforter over the bodies; hiding Floki’s gaping wounds and the fact that the jean’s were several centimetres too short.

  
*******

It's two more days of travel to Gällivare when they run out of painkillers. He miscounted, thought he had enough for at least another dose and a half. Ylva is on her way out of the bathroom, just in time to hear glass shatter against the kitchen floor, shortly followed by Ivar screaming.

“Fan helvetes jävla skit!” Ivar is too caught up in his rage to notice the way she turns on her heel, immediately locking herself inside the bathroom again. Another glass, and three plates, fall victim to his tantrum before he begins to calm down. Realizes the mess that he’s made. Ivar wheels over to the corner, picks up the broom, and sets to sweeping up the shards. It doesn’t take long before footsteps and the sound of a cane approach. Ivar pauses briefly, turning to look at Ylva over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs “I’m so sorry.” She kisses his brow then carefully steps around the wheelchair to help cleaning up. He has never turned the anger directly at her, only at the empty air, but he worries that one day he might. And even though she’d never admit it, he knows that Ylva worries too. She spreads a towel on the floor and kneels to gather up the remains of glass. They complete the job in silence. As Ivar empties the shards into the trash can, a grunt catches his attention. Immediately turning his eyes to Ylva, he sees her face twisted into a grimace. One hand flexing over her stomach.

“She’s worried.” She whispers. Ivar never offered up any sort of protest when Ylva woke him one morning, weeks ago, to inform him that they were having a girl. She was barely even showing yet but there was such certainty in her eyes that Ivar had only nodded in agreement. They are having a girl. Now he sets the broom aside and wheels closer.

“Hey,” Ivar croons as he reaches a hand out “Hey, princess. Everything’s fine.” He takes his time caressing every last inch of the bump.

“You’ve got to let mommy rest, hjärtat.”

  
*******

Ivar spends the next 48 hours fighting  tooth and claw against the pain. When they rest, Ylva pets his hair almost frantically. She vows to kill any and all that they might come across at the next pharmacy, so that Ivar will have first dibs at the whatever medicine they can find.

“I’ll rip their throats out, cave their skulls in.” She rasps as the sun begins to rise at the second morning with Ivar’s sweat soaking through the front of her shirt. They mean to leave as soon as the sun is out but Ylva spends the morning throwing up. Ivar frets about their continued travels: until he finds a dusty red miracle in the neighbour’s garage.

Ylva struggles with folding his wheelchair but as soon as it’s packed into the neighbour’s Subaru they’re off. Ivar slips in and out of sleep for the first two hours of the drive, lulled to sleep by Ylva’s out-of-tune humming. By the time they’re closing in on Liikavaara he feels almost...okay. The throbbing in his body is still there but seems to have faded into some distant part of his mind, where he can pretend for a moment that it’s not so terrible after all. He reaches a hand out to run it across her thigh.

“What do you think of Embla?” He asks. She glances at him for a moment, offers a smile.

“It’s a good name,” Ylva admits with a nod “But how about Skuld?” Ivar grimaces at that.

“The ancient meaning is fine but the current one...” He shakes her head ‘no’. Ylva chews her lips, seemingly deep in thought. Ivar lets his eyes slide shut again, fingers still petting at her leg. Half-asleep, he is just barely able to hear Ylva’s continued thoughts on the matter.

“Saga? Or maybe-” There’s a frightening crunch as the car crashes into something huge. The world seems to spin around them. Ivar’s head collides with something hard and the scream ringing through his ears is cut short.

 

*******

He comes to before her. She’s not moving. Just like the mass on the hood, she lies still.

“Wake up.” Ivar murmurs sluggishly. There’s a cut in her forehead but he thinks she’s breathing. Looking around, he sees a fur covered leg sticking through what’s left of the windshield, a hoof hovering between the seats. Ivar tries again. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he reaches to nudge at her shoulder.

“Wake up.” It takes another few seconds but finally she groans, opening her eyes. Her gaze  finds him, smiling faintly before she sees the reindeer and the blood smeared across the glass.

“We need to get away from this place.” She says. His face falls instantly at her words.

“Maybe if we stay in the car tonight,” He tries “Take turns keeping watch and-” Ylva shakes her head fiercely.

“We can’t stay here,” She whispers“They’re coming.” Ivar relents. Even if she’s wrong, it’s too cold to stay out here. They’d freeze to death in the November air.

“Okay.” Ivar reaches for the bag at his feet, rummages around until he feels the familiar handle. She stares at the weapon as he presents it to her.

“I go first, you leave a couple of metres between us. Don’t hesitate. Use me as a shield if you have to,” Ivar instructs “And if I fall behind, you continue.” Her mouth immediately begins to form a protest and Ivar crashes his lips to hers, moves frantically until he has to breathe. As he retreats, he hears hear whimper ‘Yes, Ivar’ under her breath.

“Ready?” Ylva nods. She kisses him and Ivar doesn't want it to end. Almost pulls her flush against him. Then she's gone, out the door in a whirlwind, opening the trunk and pulling out the wheelchair while Ivar watches their surroundings like a hawk. The aid slides across the icy asphalt, bumps against the car door as Ylva pushes it at him. Aiming her gun at the night air, Ylva blindly reaches behind her for the cane as Ivar hauls himself into the wheelchair and begins to roll toward Gällivare. It feels as if they’ve only just lost sight of the car when they hear something move in the woods. The first one comes stumbling out of the treeline and Ivar hears Ylva sob ‘shit’ under her breath.

“Come on, babe,” His voice cracks as he continues, spotting another one creeping towards them “I know you have steady hands.” The gun goes off and the zombie twitches, falling backwards.

“Good.” Ivar swallows thickly “Now 10 o’clock.” It falls too but three more take its place. Ylva misses a shot, sniffling as she aims again. She continues taking them down, one by one, as her and Ivar slowly make their way forward. But they never stop coming.

“Fuck.” Ylva curses when she has to pause to reload.

“Don’t rush it.” Ivar cautions, trying to keep his eyes on all seven of the creatures moving towards them. Something falls to the ground and judging by his wife’s panicked noises it’s the magazine. He thinks he can roll right into them; offer himself up as a distraction so that Ylva has a chance at reloading and picking them off while they tear him apart. It’s not the ending he hoped for, but it beats freezing to death in some northern shithole. He looks over his shoulder to find Ylva still fumbling with the weapon; she’s getting there though. It’s settled then. Checking to see that Floki’s hunting knife is still in his pocket, Ivar looks ahead again.

 

He reaches the first one, a young woman he thinks, and manages to bury the knife between her eyes.

“What are you doing?!” Ylva has caught up to what is happening but Ivar doesn’t have time to answer. The gun finally goes off and another body collapses onto the frozen road.

“Ivar, get back here!” There’s three of them now, converging on him. One takes a bullet in its head but the other two are still coming. Reaching for him with decayed arms. Ivar lashes out with the knife again, but misses as he is distracted by a sudden pain in his forehead. The other one is snarling, and Ivar could swear that it looks smug as it reaches out its bloodied fingers again. Ylva is screaming at the top of her lungs. He tries to raise the knife again, only to find that his hand is empty. _Still better than freezing to death_. He tells himself that over and over as the old man opens his jaws and leans in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> Graphic violence, blood and gore, mention of drug abuse, heavily implied oral sex (female receiving), swearing
> 
> I think those are all the warnings for this chapter, but as always you're welcome to let me know if you think I missed anything.

_Crunch._ Ivar thinks he must be hallucinating. Everything seems blurred. Even Ylva, though she’s so close that he can hear her swear and sob under her breath. _Crunch._ Red droplets fly into the air, staining Ylva’s clothes and skin. _Crunch._ She's not even firing anymore, just slamming the gun into its face over and over. Ivar tries to speak but finds that he can't. Ylva continues with the violent assault until her arms give out. She begins to tip forward, barely managing to stop herself from landing face first in the pool of blood and tissue. Looking around her, she finally catches on to the fact that Ivar is conscious.

“Ivar!” She somehow scrambles to her feet and limps towards him, the cane forgotten somewhere in the mess of bodies. The second she reaches him her gun clatters to the ground. Her eyes are as wide as saucers. He tries to tell her that he’s fine but a slurred mess of words is all that comes out.

“Ivar baby did they get you please tell me they didn’t get you Ivar don’t leave me…!” She continues rambling as she pats him down, looking for any sign of bite marks. Finding him unwounded, aside from the slash through his eyebrow, Ylva half-hiccups half-laughs. Then she’s clambering to get on his lap and Ivar shouts as lightning explodes throughout his legs, making her stumble backwards in horror.

“What were you thinking?!” He wheezes, hunched over “I told you to go.” She leans in again, setting the tip of her nose to his and gently letting them rub together.

“Did you really think I would?” He grabs at her coat, tugs her in closer.

“Stupid!” He scolds even as he keeps her from stepping back.

“They didn’t get any saliva in it, right?” She asks after a moment of silence.

“No saliva,” He confirms “Fucker just scratched me.” She moves to kiss him but Ivar pulls back. He can actually hear the huff of indignation. Cupping her neck with one hand, he wipes the worst of the grime from her face before melding his lips to hers. Ivar doesn’t want to stop, and doesn’t mean to either. Not until he hears his wife whimper. Pulling back, he sees her pouting at him. Her eyes still hold some disgruntlement over the rejection, though mostly she seems to be on the verge of tears.

“You’ve kissed me when I was bloodier than that.” She complains in a sniffle.

“Mmm,” Ivar hums “but there wasn’t bits of brain in your hair then.” Ylva giggles at that, quickly wipes away tears with the back of her hand.

“What were you trying to do?” She asks, settling on her knees in front of him. Ivar’s jaws clench shut. He can't bring himself to look at her, much less talk. Ylva seems to understand anyway.

“Idiot!” She cranes her neck, hiding against Ivar’s leg. Her words grow muffled against his sweatpants “You selfish fucking-” Ivar grabs her by the arms, stopping her tirade. She tenses and Ivar tries not to think of the fact that he might be scaring her.

“We have to get moving.” He urges. Ylva glares back at him, completely silent. When she motions to get up, Ivar lets go and watches as she hobbles off to gather the gun and the cane. He waits for her to take up her spot behind him again but instead she stands next to him. Shoots him another glare, effectively silencing him on the matter.

“You ready?” She checks the gun then nods in affirmation

 

*******

 

His arms are burning but he forces himself to move forward. Ylva tries to speak with him but he's teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Doesn't even have the strength to protest when he feels her small fingers guide his hands away from the wheels. When she pushes her cane into his hands, Ivar holds onto it like it's the only thing keeping him alive. He remembers that time when he was 7 years old and his mother discovered that the medicine was all gone. Ragnar was in a particularly rough patch with his addiction and when his usual sources couldn’t keep up with his desires, his eyes turned to Ivar’s medicines. Aslaug had cradled him in her arms, kept him close until he drifted off to a worried sleep.  
  
Ivar’s fingers feel frozen shut around the cane. The wheelchair is barely moving forward and he can hear Ylva straining for breath. She had started off talking to him, wanting to keep him awake, but quickly had to stop as her lungs began to burn. It takes him a moment to realize that they’ve come to a complete halt.

“Look.” Ylva rasps, then breaks into a coughing fit. He looks in the direction she’s pointing, squinting. There’s a building up ahead. Low, made of orange bricks. A familiar green and white logo decorating its entrance.

 

The automatic door opener is broken so she holds the door open for him, looking like she might collapse against it. The pharmacy is mostly intact; Ivar thinks he might cry with relief. He swallows down two pronaxen while Ylva tears into a box of protein bars. Finding a tube of voltaren, they take turns rubbing it into each others shoulders. There’s a villa just 100 meters down the road and once Ylva has passed out from exhaustion in the master bedroom, Ivar chases down another three pills with a chocolate cracker and lukewarm water from the pharmacy. He sleeps, free of nightmares, for 13 hours and wakes up to Ylva drooling in her sleep.

“Sweet thing,” He whispers, nudging her to see if she will wake. He pushes her legs apart, settling between them to look at the bump housing their baby. The only source of light is a flashlight on the bedside table, but he thinks he can see something push from inside. Ivar sets his nose to it, searches through his mind for one of the songs his mother and aunt sang to him until he finds one that seems fitting.

"Sov du lilla videung,” He begins “än så är det vinter, än så sova björk och ljung, ros och hyacinter..." He likes to think that it’s a hand he’s seeing, trying to reach out to him.

"Än så är det långt till vår, innan rönn i blomma står, sov du lilla vide, än så är det vinter..." Ylva stirs.

"What are-" She begins, only to fall silent again as she realizes what Ivar is doing.

“Solskens öga ser på dig, solskensfamn dig vaggar...” He hums the last lines. Then finally looks up at Ylva.

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's fine."

"I could make it up to you." Her legs twitch just at the suggestion. Ivar notices and immediately breaks into a grin.

"Someone wants it." He comments. He sees her try not to smile and failing miserably.

"Shut up." She finally says softly, treading her blistered fingers through his hair and pushing his head in the right direction. He nips at her thigh before beginning to tug her panties out of the way. Ivar’s already licking his lips in anticipation by the time he’s gotten her naked. Suddenly, Ylva’s grip tightens. Ivar stills.

“What you did last night,” She says “Throwing yourself in their way like that. Don't ever do that again.” She relaxes her fist again and Ivar sighs.

“I won’t.” He whispers against her skin, hoping he won’t have to break that promise.

 

*******

 

Ylva returns from the yard, her excitement palpable.

“There’s a well.”

“What?” Ivar asks around a mouthful of oatmeal. She rounds the table and sinks down onto a chair. The smile on her face reaching from ear to ear.

“They have their own well.” She repeats.  Once Ivar has connected the dots, a vivid image flashes through his mind. A real shower. A _warm_ shower. The first in weeks. Ivar drops the spoon, his hands on the wheels before it’s even landed.

“Whoever finds the boiler room gets to shower first.” He calls out. Ylva reaches for her cane, cursing at how she’s already fallen behind. They take off in opposite directions, searching through the house. Ivar soon gives up on the living room and in his hurry to move along he nearly rolls past the small door in the hallway. Basement, of course. Opening it, a set of stairs is revealed. It looks steep but he thinks he can do it. The sound of Ylva approaching triggers the competitive streak in him and he locks the wheelchair in place, lowering himself onto the floor. There’s a carpet covering the stairs and it cushions each blow some on his way down. Ylva catches on but not nearly fast enough. She enters the boiling room, just to find him already leaning against the boiler. Ivar smirks.

“I win.” He reaches up to swat at Ylva’s ass, nodding in the direction of the firewood.

“Get to making a fire.” He says gleefully.

 

*******

  
They stay longer than intended; enjoying the water, pantry and the enormous bed.

“I had a dream.” Ylva murmurs sleepily when she wakes up on the third morning.

“Yeah?” Ivar asks, nuzzling at her clavicle “Anything good?”

“I saw her,” His wife beams at him “She looked just like you.”

“That is unfortunate.” His yawn turns into a laugh as Ylva swats at his arm. Though, as Ylva gets out of bed, his smile quickly fades. He means to ask her if she really meant ‘just like him’; including his legs. The words stick in his throat. Honestly, he’s not even sure how to phrase it. When he looks up again, she’s staring at him. Her shirt only halfway on.

“What is it?” She asks. Ivar swallows hard.

“Did you see if she has…” He gestures to his legs.

“No,” Ylva answers immediately, then continues before Ivar can ask “No, I didn’t see. I’m not a psychic, husband.”

“Völva,” He automatically corrects her ”So-” Ivar stops himself.

“So?” Ylva prods.

“What if she does. And they treat her like they do you and me.” _Or worse_ , he adds to himself. A twitch in Ylva’s cheek is the only sign that she even heard him. Finally, she speaks.

“You’re shit at being supportive, you know that?” With that, she turns and leaves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivar is singing a song called "Sov du lilla videung". English translation below, found at lyricstranslate.com
> 
> "Sleep little willow  
> it's still winter  
> Still asleep are birch and heather  
> rose and hyacinths  
> It's still a long time until spring  
> before rowan is flowering  
> Sleep little willow  
> it's still winter  
> Sunshine's eye is watching you  
> sunshine's arms rock you"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Body searches, Military/police being aggressive, Ableism and ableist language, Ivar loses his temper and scares Ylva.
> 
> As always, let me know if you think I need to add any warnings.

Ivar wakes from a bump in the road. All he can see is trees and snow, spreading out on both sides of the car.

“Wow, I must’ve been out for a while,” he rubs the sleep from his eyes “We’re almost there, right?” Ylva doesn’t answer. He knows they have to be close now; they’ve been driving for over an hour. Can’t be more than 30 or so minutes left. Ylva’s chin is bobbing up and down, like she’s following the rhythm of a song, and her knuckles are white wrapped around the steering wheel.

“Are you nervous?” He tries, only to be met by more silence. It’s better that way, he tells himself. His head hurts too much for small talk.

 

The sign, big and red, reads ‘Midgård’. Ivar hears Ylva exhale deeply as she begins to slow down. As they come closer to the gates, Ivar begins to search for any hints as to how they’re going to get inside. Before they reach it, two shapes appear out of nowhere prompting Ylva to slam the brakes. The guards clothes are blending in seamlessly with the snow and trees. Ylva gasps, in excitement Ivar thinks, and begins to open the door. A sharp voice rings out from one of the camouflage wearing shapes.

“Halt!” Ylva jerks back, the door left halfway open. The guards creep up on them. Their shoes don’t even creak as they move through the snow.

“Names?” The first voice asks, a woman by the sound of it.

“Ylva,” Ylva answers “and Ivar. My husband.” The woman’s deep set eyes flick between the both of them. There’s a crackle from a radio and Ivar thinks he can hear the person on the other end asking ‘how many’.

“Two,” the woman answers “Both in their twenties, I’d say.” There’s another crackle, unintelligible, and the woman replies with a short ‘understood, colonel’. She nods to her partner, who immediately understands what is expected and locks their eyes on Ylva.

“I’m going to need you both to get out of the car so we can search you.” A man’s voice says. Ylva attempts a smile.

“Is that really necessary?” She asks. Her sweet tone has no effect on the guard who only stares back.

“Yes.”

“I’ll need my wheelchair,” Ivar informs them “It’s in the trunk.” He doesn’t miss the look the two guards share, the way their grips on the weapons shift.

“It’s not a fucking trap,” he snaps “I can’t walk!” Still, the guards move together. Him with his weapon raised, ready to fire should someone or something be hiding in the trunk. The woman rips it open then steps back in a fluid motion. Ivar can see them in the side view mirror: first standing perfectly still and then reaching in to lift out the folded aid. They fumble while unfolding it but eventually the man begins to steer it towards the passenger side. Ylva is already on her way out, cane in her hand, with the woman keeping an eye on her. She’s led to the other side of the road, facing Ivar, as he unbuckles his belt and reaches for the armrest of his wheelchair. He knows that Ylva is itching to rush forward and help him but the woman is keeping one hand on her shoulder. Ivar lands crooked and can’t stop a hiss of pain from escaping him. He’s still shifting in the seat when someone grabs at the handles and turns him around.

“What the fuck-”

“This will be over faster if you’re quiet.” The woman interrupts as she begins to pat him down. When she gets to his legs he has to take a deep breath and count to ten in order to keep from punching her. Next, she places herself behind him.

“Lean forward.” He bites back a retort and does as commanded, feels the tips of her fingers slip in between his skin and the waistband of his underwear. He must have passed because soon her hands retreat and she marches over to Ylva. The woman gestures for her partner to move and he steps away from Ylva, towards Ivar. Watches over him like a hawk while Ylva gets patted down. Ivar can see the way his wife trembles, notices the panic in her eyes as a complete stranger lets her hands roam across her body. Finishing the body search, the woman moves on to the car. Grabs the bag and rummages through it. Finding the gun and pulling it out, she gives a low whistle before pulling a plastic bag out of a pocket and depositing the gun inside it.

“That’s ours!” Ylva protests.

“You can have it back once you’ve proved you can use it responsibly.” The woman also confiscates Floki’s knife, the water bottles and protein bars, leaving only the photos and clothes. Ivar looks over his shoulder, staring at the man.

“Really?”

“We’re just doing our job.” The man replies. Ivar snorts.

“Taking food from pregnant women and cripples? Your parents must be proud.” Finally done, the woman lifts the radio.

“Nothing suspicious on them or in the car,” she reports “The girl is pregnant, the boy is in a wheelchair.” Ivar grinds his teeth at being called ‘boy’. Not a minute later, there’s a buzzing sound as the gates begin to open. A car appears, heading towards them. The woman turns to them again, tugging at the cloth covering her face and revealing an upturned nose.

“I’m captain Rensberg,” she says “this is lieutenant Pääkkönen.” The man reveals a heart-shaped face with oddly puffy lips. The car stops and another man exits.

“Sergeant Lidén will take you into town.” Rensberg explains with a nod to the new arrival before handing him the mostly empty bag. The sergeant flashes a smile, at least.

 

“I’ll drop you off at the info centre,” Lidén explains as they settle in the worn volvo v70 “After that I’d recommend you go to the hospital.” The car pass through the gates and they immediately begin to swing shut behind them. Everything is...grey. Ivar looks over at Ylva to see her arms tightly wrapped around her belly. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, tries to smile reassuringly when she turns to look at him.

“Welcome to Midgård!” Lidén says with an enthusiasm that Ivar thinks has to be fake “Crash course: at the last count, 1498 people lived here. Seems like you’ll bring us to 1500 even! There’s a council that’s in charge of running this place. Security’s made up of ex military and cops. Everyone that’s 18 or older are required to go through some basic weapons training-”

“I can handle a weapon, as can my wife.” Ivar interjects.

“Good. The hospital-” the sergeant points to a brick building on their left “-is mostly up and running, though we’re still trying to get some of the equipment to work. They’re understaffed but working on training new doctors and nurses so hopefully that’ll change.” He points out more buildings as they pass them. A command centre, a school, a shooting range. Ivar tries not to look, as the sunlight gleaming of the snow only makes his headache worse. Finally, they pull up in front of a red wooden house.

“Here we are” Lidén pauses, as if expecting a response but when Ivar and Ylva remain silent he continues ”They’ll find you a place to live. See what kind of tasks you can help out with.”

 

*******

 

Ylva’s scrutinizing glare follows the gangly nurse around the examination room.

“How old are you?” She asks.

“I’ve gone to nursing school.” He answers defensively. Ylva, completely unperturbed by his tone, raises an eyebrow as if to question his honesty.

“Well I _started_ nursing school,” the nurse admits with an awkward chuckle “I only went there for one semester before all hell broke loose _but_ I was a good student!” He waggles his pen at Ylva in what is probably meant as a joking gesture. _Idiot_. Ivar’s had enough of idiots at the info centre. Ivar closes his eyes, the throbbing behind them growing worse with every passing second. When he opens them again, Ylva is staring at him in disbelief while the nurse goes over his notes.

“Seriously?” She hisses under her breath. Ivar can only grimace. He doesn’t think that this is one of those problems that he can fix by throwing money at it. Once the boy excuses himself to go find one of the doctors, Ylva is quick to strike.

“We have to fix this,” she demands “Are you really going to let a pimple faced 19-year old take care of your wife? Your _pregnant_ wife?” It’s the last straw. Ivar slams a hand down on the armrest, ignoring the way she flinches.

“I know you’re used to everyone making exceptions for you,” he snarls “to using my name as a free pass, but you are going to have to stop with that childish bullshit now.” Ylva stares at him with wide eyes. Like water, the anger runs off of him. Ivar hides his face in his hands.

“Sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his palms back and forth “I didn’t mean that.”

“No, you’re right,” Ylva whispers, looking down at her lap “They have more important things to tend to than a little girl who was stupid enough to get herself pregnant.” Ivar can’t help but chuckle.

“I think you can put part of the blame on the husband who convinced his wife and himself that pulling out was a great method.” Ylva lets out something like a giggle. She reaches for his hand, their fingers instinctively intertwining.

“What if she’s sick?” she says “They have two doctors, Ivar. In a town of 1500 people. There’s always going to be someone more important to take care of.” Ivar grips her hand tighter but doesn’t have time to answer before the young nurse reappears.

“Dr. Nkosi is on his way.” He assures them, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he's interrupting a private moment. Ivar straightens his back but keeps Ylva’s hand in his.

“Have you seen a lot of pregnancies here?” He asks the nurse.

“No,” the boy answers, toying with his pen “Most people are extra careful now. Resources are scarce and they don’t want to put a strain on-” He stops mid-sentence. It seems that they didn’t teach bedside manners during the first semester. The young man clears his throat, tucks the pen back into his pocket.

“I’m going to go check on some other patients. I’ll send the doctor in.” With that, he turns and leaves. Ylva’s bottom lip is trembling and Ivar leans in closer, kissing her cheek. There’s a knock on the door but he doesn’t pull back, not until it opens and a new voice speaks up.

“Good afternoon.” A man in his late thirties, with reddish-brown skin and wearing the typical doctor’s coat, closes the door behind him. He walks over to them and reaches a hand out.

“I’m doctor Johannes Nkosi,” the doctor introduces himself “You must be Ylva and Ivar Ragnarsson?” Ivar nods in affirmation, shaking the doctor’s hand.

“Nurse Gustavsson wrote down that you’re just shy of seven months pregnant, is that correct?” Dr. Nkosi asks Ylva.

“I think so.”

“You haven’t had any check ups, understandably so,” he murmurs to himself as he reads the notes ”Started feeling movement at about 20 weeks.” Ylva smooths one palm over her bump.

“She kicks a lot.” She admits. Dr. Nkosi reveals dimples in both cheeks.

“You’re hoping for a girl?” He asks. Ylva speaks with the same confidence as the first time she told Ivar that they are having a daughter.

“I know it’s a girl.”

“The ultrasound should be able confirm that,” the doctor says, putting the notes aside “If you want to know, of course.” Ylva nods eagerly.

“You actually have an ultrasound machine. I have to say I didn’t expect that.” Ivar admits.

“We got it from Finland,” dr. Nkosi reveals “Traded it for surgical instruments and vehicles. If you’d lie down, mrs. Ragnarsson.” Ylva does as she’s told but she watches the doctor with big eyes as she settles on the bunk. Ivar imagines that he’s just as wide eyed.

“Traded? There’s a town there too?” Dr. Nkosi smiles again as he begins to adjust the height of the bunk.

“Tulisija,” he confirms “And in Norway there’s Borg.” The knowledge that they’re not alone brings Ivar more comfort than he thought it would. Makes him hope, perhaps childishly so, that one day the living will win.

“There’s actually a truck coming in from Borg by the end of the week, with medicines. There might be something in there for you.” Ivar snaps his head up to look at the doctor.

“What makes you think I need pills?” He snaps. Ylva is quick to shoot Ivar a glare but dr. Nkosi acts unfazed.

“Technically,” he begins “I was talking to both you and your wife. But to answer your question: you’re in a wheelchair, you shift back and forth in the seat all the time like it’s impossible to sit in a way that doesn’t hurt, and every time you move your jaw tenses. I think you’re in quite a lot of pain. Let’s see what we can do about that.” Ivar’s face twitches involuntarily.

“Fine.” He mutters, conceding the point. Ylva grips his hand tightly.

“We’ll make an appointment.” She agrees. The doctor nods.

“Good. Now how about we get that ultrasound?” He begins to prepare and Ylva leans in close to her husband.

“I like him.” She whispers. Ivar is tempted to scoff but he can’t bring himself to do so. He’s only happy that she likes the doctor since their chances of getting another one are non-existent. Ylva pulls her shirt up, allowing dr. Nkosi to spread the gel on her bump. Ivar watches the screen with fierce concentration, same as Ylva. Waits for the doctor’s judgement. It takes an eternity and then some but finally dr. Nkosi speaks.

“Everything seems to be fine. And it looks like you were right,” he points at the screen “That’s your daughter right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS  
> Tulisija - hearth  
> Borg - a (medieval) fortified building


End file.
